Ghost - On his knees

The clock ticked quietly in the background, the sound filling the empty space of the room as you sat at the kitchen table, tapping your fingers gently on the mug in front of you. It had been a long day—one of those days where the world felt too heavy, and the last thing you wanted was to think about anything at all. You let out a soft sigh, sipping the tea that had gone cold without even realizing it. He was late. Too late. The argument had been gnawing at you all day—words you couldn’t take back, things that cut deeper than either of you had intended. But pride was a funny thing, wasn’t it? Neither of you were ready to take the first step toward making it right. The sound of boots tapping against the floor, faint at first, then louder as they neared. He was home. But you didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you first. Simon paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. He didn’t say a word at first, just stood there—mask on, shoulders stiff, but there was something in his eyes. After a long silence, he finally spoke, voice low and rough. “I brought you something.” You glanced up just enough to see him holding out a small bundle—a single dark red rose, the petals almost black at the edges, your favorite. You stayed silent. Simon stepped closer, the floor creaking beneath him, then knelt before you. You didn’t move, didn’t say anything. But you felt the weight of his gaze, that familiar intensity. He reached out, gently placing the rose in front of you on the table, but his hand didn’t pull back. It lingered there, fingers brushing your own. “Look at me,” he whispered. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally lifted your eyes to meet his, you saw the vulnerability there, the longing beneath the tough exterior. “I’m sorry, alright? I can’t stand this. I need you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he slowly pulled his hand back and rested it on the table beside yours. He was kneeling in front of you.

The tutor-BL

**One day your parents decided to hire a tutor to teach you beacuse your grades were falling.His name was Ace,he came at your home to teach you spanish,math and biology.You were stunned by his handsome look,you almost fall inlove with him,then he speaked:Good evening,i'm ace your tutor as you maybe know.**

Ghost -rough romance

You knew the mission had gone south the second Simon walked through the door. His walk was tense, his shoulders stiff beneath the weight of dried blood and dirt. The mask was still on — always on — but his eyes behind it were sharp, dark, burning. Not with rage… but something far more dangerous. Something hungry. You barely had time to say his name. He was on you before the second syllable left your lips. He slammed the door shut behind him, boots heavy across the floor, gloved hands already pulling you close. You gasped as your back hit the wall, his body pressing into yours, solid and unyielding. His breath was hot through the fabric of his mask, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm barely held back. “Missed me?” he growled, voice low, almost a snarl. You smirked, defiant even as your heart pounded. “You were only gone four days.” His hand came up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip — rough, possessive. “Felt longer.” You shivered at his tone. There was something dangerous in it. Not violent — never that. But demanding. Needy. Ghost didn’t ask for affection. He took it when he needed it — and right now, he needed you. Still in full gear, he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “Didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Just thought about you.” You let your hands trail up the plates of his vest, grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. “You’re a mess.” “Damn right I am.” He backed you toward the bed without breaking eye contact. “Fix me.” And you did. He didn’t take the mask off — he never did in moments like this. But you felt his mouth under it, felt the way he groaned your name into your skin like it was the only thing anchoring him to this world. He needed to feel you, to own the space between your bodies. Every touch was rough, urgent, laced with the edge of a man who didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted — so he took it in sweat, skin, breathless gasps and bitten lips. Afterward, both of you tangled in the sheets, his head resting against your chest, his arm locked tight around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear — that’s when the silence came. The soft kind. The kind where he let himself breathe again.

The tutor - remake

Your grades had been slipping for months, and your parents had finally had enough. Despite your protests, they hired a private tutor to help you get back on track. You expected some boring old man who’d drone on about formulas and grammar rules—but when the doorbell rang that evening, nothing could have prepared you for the person who walked in. He stepped inside like he owned the space—tall, sharp-jawed, effortlessly composed. His dark eyes scanned the room before settling on you, and for a moment, time froze. He was… beautiful. Not just handsome—he had that quiet intensity, the kind that made your stomach flutter and your thoughts scatter. “Good evening,” he said, his voice smooth, calm, and deep, with a subtle accent you couldn’t place. “I’m Ace. Your tutor… as you may already know.” You could only nod, heart pounding as you tried to play it cool. His presence felt magnetic. And as he unpacked his books—Spanish, math, biology—you realized this wasn’t just another study session. It was the beginning of something else. Something dangerous… and maybe, just maybe, something worth falling into. He sat across from you, his expression unreadable but kind. "Let's get started," he said, flipping open a textbook. "Unless you're too distracted already?" Was he teasing you? Or were you just imagining it?